Sunday, March 28, 2010

This is what happens when you start prepping a 19-year-old car for racing. You find holes in the floor.

Background, because I feel it is always necessary: (It probably rarely is.)
I tore up the carpet on our racecar on my lunch break. A 14mm socket, a screwdriver, and a bit of really boring lunchtime NPR is all it took. I removed the front seats (socket), popped off the retaining clips for the carpet under the edge of the rear seat (screwdriver), removed the center console (screwdriver), and started yanking that shit around the pieces that were still screwed down. Vehicle carpeting is neither plush nor resilient against tearing. In fact, the pattern of the supporting thread is a lot like vinyl reinforced adhesive tape, so I could tear it into big chunks with my hands.

Never mind how unbelievably filthy that car is (I forgot to photograph the crayons and toy cars, and the smell, while unphotographable, is pervasive). I found two surprises under the carpeting. Rust holes in the floor pan. Right about where the forward roll cage supports will need to go. This is not good news.

Hopefully we can roll the cost of repairing that into the cost of installing the cage. I figure if whoever is building us a cage can't fix that and make it safe, they shouldn't be building us a cage. I guess we'll find out.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

I have a problem. It's called oversimplification. I have a feeling most car guys get this when they start to think about a project.

Today, for example, I was telling Eric that we should probably go ahead with the drivetrain swap on our Escort (ZX2 into a 2nd-gen LX). He asked me what was involved in the process of pulling an engine and transaxle from the wrecked ZX2. This is how it initially played out in my head:

Bend shit out of the way.

Disconnect hoses.

Disconnect wires.

Remove motor mount nuts.

Lift entire assembly out.

Remove wiring harness.

Sounds easy, right? Well, it is. Sort of. It's the details that get in the way. Each one of those steps can take a lot of time, because they all involve many, many substeps. Also, things like hammering, bending, prying, wiggling, and dealing with rusted fasteners are very big time-eaters and muscle-fatiguers.

The actual process is something more like this (which is what I sent him):

Remove the hood (4 bolts).

Disconnect and remove battery.

Hammer/pry/smash/pull the radiator support out of the way, along with any other bent shit that interferes. This may be the most physically strenuous and improvised portion of this exercise.

Inspect for broken shit.

Disconnect the radiator hoses (2), heater core hoses (2), power steering hoses (2), and any other hoses I can't remember.

Label all electrical connectors with tape and sharpie, on both sides of the connection.

Disconnect all electrical connectors, and unbolt any ground wires to the engine.

Disconnect positive starter wire.

Pull out axles.

Attach engine hoist to engine.

Remove the nuts or bolts on each of the 4 motor mounts (max. 2 each).

Slowly lift the engine and transmission out of the car, watching for any remaining connections.

Roll the engine hoist (with drivetrain) into the garage.

Disassemble car interior to locate the entirety of its wiring harness.

Not quite as simple, right? It suddenly went from, "Yeah, we can do this" to: "... that's pretty intense." And I'm still leaving out quite a bit (especially in terms of the interior). Once this is done, we do it again to the other car. Then we swap sway bars and steering racks, overhaul a transmission, and then reinstall one of the drivetrains. Two removals, one installation.

Nobody ever said racing was easy. Or cheap. But at least it'll be fun.

Friday, March 5, 2010

I've done a lot of heavy wrenching in my black Carhartt coat over the years, in various locations and with varying degrees of cleanliness and success. I've had it since late in my high school years, and I don't think I've ever cleaned it. After these last couple weekends under two very rusty cars, one of which was out on a gravel-and-snow driveway, and getting covered in even more dirt, rust, grime, and brake fluid, I decided it needed a thorough cleaning.

A professional cleaning. So I had Amanda take it in when she was getting a zipper fixed on her coat. Amanda said they told her, "I think we'll need an extra day on this one" when she dropped it off. You can see above the note they put after the coat.

Very dirty indeed, with three exclamation points.

Well, it was true. I wish I had a photo of it in its full filthy glory. All I have is of it clean, and they did an amazing job. Green Acre Cleaners is a pretty excellent place.

I haven't seen the coat this black practically since I bought it, though there are plenty of worn spots in the denim by now. After all, high school ended 8 years ago; this thing is probably about the same age as my old Caterpillar boots. Anyway, I'm happy it's clean now, though the season for this heavy a coat is practically over. It's fresh and ready for next year, and it no longer smells like earth and grease and sweat. It's ready for another 10+ years of service.